


home is where the heart is

by parkjinchu



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Orphanage, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-10-26 02:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu
Summary: after the abrupt passing of his mother, jinwoo finds he has no where to go. he is taken to live at a small home for boys in the countryside, where he finds more than just a temporary family.Opportunity often comes disguised in the form of misfortune, or temporary defeat.-Napoleon Hillthis is a work of fiction, and in no way represents the real lives of astro's members. in case of astro/fantagio/reasonable fan request, this fic will be taken downread full disclaimer on my profile





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> it has been a long time coming but i finally think i'm really ready to give something a proper go. i'm in love with the idea of this fic and i hope you will enjoy it as much as i do.  
> i'd like to give a shout out to @[chaeungyu_](https://twitter.com/chaeungyu_) and @[_skyrs](https://twitter.com/_skyrs) who have been waiting for some more jincha and who encouraged me to begin this fic! i hope that it will be everything you wanted :)  
> i'd also like to thank vonseal who has always been my motivation and support system when it comes to writing.   
> i'm acting like this is a whole big thing, but writing has always been very important to me and being unable to write feels like a chunk of my identity has been misplaced. im so proud to produce just barely 1.3k, and so happy that it has inspired me to continue.  
> i hope that you will enjoy this fic a lot :)

_Opportunity often comes disguised in the form of misfortune, or temporary defeat._

_-Napoleon Hill_

 

The memories came to him again on a rainy afternoon, as they so often did, this time after taking cover beneath a bus stop. An advertisement strip for authors looking for inspiration hung bright on one wall of the open shelter, capturing Jinwoo’s attention as he shook the rain water from his hair.

The image was eerie – it appeared to be the silhouette of a burly man, clutching a dripping kitchen knife in the palm of his hand. This, however, was not what caught Jinwoo’s eye. Rather, it was the question, written largely in a bold red, in a similar font found on the covers of classic horror movies.

_What has been the scariest moment in your life so far?_

Jinwoo pondered this, for a moment, as a trail of rain water slithered over his brow. A few memories floated to the surface of his mind, buoys in a restless ocean. He could pick a few to be the scariest, and they all took place in the summer of his sixteenth year. When he thought back to that time, a time of insane highs and incredible lows, his heart aches to return.

For every summer since he left the little river-side hanok, his mind is flooded with the memories of his first few weeks there. Those weeks changed his life – perhaps for the better – and he cannot imagine the present without his time spent at that home.

It was difficult – he could not say he was _grateful_ for the circumstances that had lead him to that river-side hanok, but he certainly was grateful for the person he had become as a result from his time there. He also had wonderful friends who were as close to him as a family would have been. Without them, Jinwoo wonders if he’d still be walking on the earth at all.

Much of Jinwoo’s childhood was sweet, and the memories of it are stained with childish imagination and dreamy fantasies. He lived alone with his mother, in a cosy apartment in Seoul. He remembers the way her arms would wrap comfortingly around his little body, the warm feeling of her bosom as he nestled against her. He could remember the feeling of her lips on his hairline as she bid him a goodnight, and if he tried hard enough, he could remember the feeling of her gently aging skin, and the smell of her perfume that she wore every day.

They only had each other – Jinwoo’s father had left years prior, never to be heard from again. Jinwoo finds he does not mind so much; he could not remember anything about the man, and if their paths were to meet again, he probably would not notice. His mother’s parents were both living in a retirement village, surviving through the various difficulties of old age, and she had no siblings. It was only ever the two of them, but they needed no more than one another.

Just days after his sixteenth birthday, the life he and his mother had curated together was ripped from his hands. 

He had returned home to an empty, dark apartment. Where his mother would usually play some soft music over the sound of her cooking sizzling in a pan, there was silence. Where the television usually cast a dim glow, there was darkness. On the empty dining table, a note from his mother, letting him know she had gone out to run some errands.

She did not return.

When Jinwoo thinks back to that day – the phone call, the rush to the hospital – he finds himself sinking back into the terrified mind of his fifteen-year-old self. Hopeless, powerless, and frightened, as the doctors induced her comatose. His entire life and all he had ever known and loved, trapped in the body of a near lifeless woman.

He saw the wreckage on the news, on a small television in the hospital room. The carnage was atrocious, the car crushed as if it was as easy as one scrunched up paper. The ‘jaws-of-life’ had pulled his mother free, but to what use was it? She was alive, thanks to machines that plugged into her and beeped endlessly, but she was brain-dead. Trapped in a coma, until she inevitably passes.

She would not have felt anything – that is what the doctors had told him. If she was one second later, she could have been safe – that is what the police had told him.

Life turned into a blur, after that. There was no one to maintain the apartment, bills piling up. The landlord gave Jinwoo help in finding a solution to a new home – family, friends, and so on, but came up short. He lived in a big world, but he was alone, with nowhere to go.

Out of his hands, social services organised everything for him. They pored over his mother’s will – which claimed that he was to be left with his grandparents in case of an emergency, but both of his grandparents were in high-care retirement homes and in need of constant assistance. Short of ideas, he was told he was going to an orphanage.

Jinwoo had tried to argue with the service woman who was caring for him in the meantime – he clutched onto his mother’s hand, careful to avoid the numerous wires snaking over her. _She’s still alive_ , he told her, gesturing to the numerous monitors that were maintaining her heartbeat. _I can’t be an orphan if she’s still alive!_ The servicewoman only pursed her lips, doubt evident on her features, and it made Jinwoo’s heart sink.

He had packed up his belongings, all of his possessions in two suitcases. He tucked a photo of himself and his mother into a photo frame, the last note she wrote him hidden behind it, and carefully packed it between all his clothes. He was set to leave shortly, with the servicewoman and her car. As they left, they took a detour to the hospital, by Jinwoo’s request.

The servicewoman had parked the car near the entrance of the hospital, telling him to take no longer than fifteen minutes. With those words, she put a limit on Jinwoo’s time with his mother.

Standing outside his mother’s door, he paused, taking a deep breath. He was not prepared for this, at all. He had not expected that he would ever have to say a goodbye to his mother, like this. _It’s not for forever_ , he told himself, hand gripping the door knob and twisting it open. _I’ll see her again, soon_.

His mother was laid out on the hospital bed, the respiratory machine making a harsh noise as it sucked life in and out of her. The room was dark, the machine’s lights like beacons, leading Jinwoo toward his mother. He dropped into a seat by her bed, rested his head in her hand, and began to cry. He had barely had the time or energy to cry, the shock of his mother’s sudden condition never quite ebbing away.

In his final goodbye, it was all he could do. He sobbed, heaving, wracking sobs that made his whole chest shake aggressively. His cheeks hurt as his lips stretched around his cries, his vocal chords straining as he wept. He chanted, like a prayer, _I love you, mum, I love you_ , but it fell on deaf ears. He squeezed her hand tightly, brought the lifeless limb to his cheeks and wiped away his own tears. Embedding the feeling of her touch into his mind, he leaned over, kissed her cheek, and said his final goodbye. 

“I promise you, I _promise_ you,” he said, desperately, his wet lips on her skin. She didn’t smell like her old favourite perfume. “I’ll come back, okay?”

With one last look behind him, he tried to remember his mother as she was before the car accident, vibrant and shining. He quietly shut the door behind him and stepped back outside. Jinwoo watched the hospital slide away through the rear-view mirror of the car and wondered where this long grey road would lead.


	2. summer sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jinwoo shuts the door on his old life.

Jinwoo watches from the passenger seat, as the city crumbles away into the suburban streets that line the outskirts of Seoul. The radio playing quietly and the hum of the tyres on the tar fill in the silence between himself and Hyejin, driving. The servicewoman had not commented on his tear stained cheeks, or croaking voice, as he stepped into the car, only smiled sadly and released the hand brake.

As the highway stretched on and grew thinner, and the number of cars accompanying them on the road diminished, Jinwoo’s heart calmed. The squeezing feeling in his chest loosened, slightly, and his breathing returned to normal from its previous choked hiccupping. With an absent mind, he thought of the growing distance between himself and his childhood home, between himself and his mother; between himself and all he had ever identified with.

Rows of trees, and fields scattered with livestock, flickered past his window. Rivers that shone like agate curled around the rolling hillsides, and farmland blanketed the land like a patchwork quilt. The sights were refreshing – Jinwoo had never seen anything like it outside of books and television, his entire life thus far based in the depths of a city that cut into the sky.

It was so different, so far from anything he had ever known. It made a small curl of anxiety bloom in his chest, like the stem of a rose. Curiosity as to the final destination overwhelms him, makes his mind spin with endless possibilities. He coughs, clearing his throat, and turns to the Hyejin. “Where are we going, exactly?” He asks, voice small.

“A home for boys,” Hyejin responds, her features softening slightly. “It’s quite a small one, but it was the only home that would take you at such short notice,” she explains, and Jinwoo feels his heart squeeze a little. Alone, with nowhere to go, and almost entirely _unwanted_.

They enter a small town in the valley of an oblong ring of small mountains, with a cluster of houses in the centre, scattering out to the bases of the hills. The car winds its way through the streets of the village, and Jinwoo glances at the rows of traditional houses, until they come out the other end of the town.

The car trails over the thinning single lane, the wheels clipping the rough edge of the tar. Wildflowers line the road like splatters of paint, an artist’s endeavours. The engine chortles up a small hill, atop which sits a single traditional hanok. “Welcome to your new home,” the servicewoman says, as the tar fizzles out into rough gravel. The coarse ground crunches beneath the wheels as they slowly draw closer to the home.

The hanok sat in the centre of the hill, a luscious and clearly well-tended-to garden skirting the building. Trees dotted the grounds, creating small pockets of dancing shade across the land. To one side of the building, Jinwoo spots a clothesline, creamy sheets and multi-coloured t-shirts whipping in the breeze. Behind the hill, the greenery gets thicker, and Jinwoo can smell the damp earthy smell of a nearby river as he steps out of the car.

His suitcase thuds as it hits the gravel, the fabric along the bottom slightly scathed. Jinwoo thinks about how mere hours before, he was giving a farewell to his mother, and now he was about to meet his temporary ‘family’ – oh, how his world had changed so quickly.

A soft creaking sound is heard from the hanok, and Jinwoo turns his head to find the front door had been pushed ajar, and a small head was poking through the gap. Jinwoo, instinctively, stepped behind the Hyejin, using her as a shield as he quietly examined the boy at the door.

He was rather short, with wide and curious eyes that were hidden behind thick, square-framed glasses. The boy had a high, button nose, and a set of pouty lips. His small face was framed by his over-grown bowl-cut, black as the night sky. He looked very young – perhaps aged only eleven or twelve.

Anxiety weighed like a hot stone in the pit of Jinwoo’s belly – who else lived behind those doors? Were they all around the age of that boy (would Jinwoo stick out like a sore thumb, ostracised and alone)? Were they all orphans (or, kids like him who had drawn the short-straw, sent to a temporary home until things inevitably settled down)?

Almost as quickly as the boy appears, he disappears behind the door again. Hyejin, ahead of Jinwoo, begins to walk towards the hanok, and Jinwoo remains only a footstep behind, clinging to what little was left of his previous life.

There’s a commotion behind the thick doors, thunderous footsteps and shrieks of what Jinwoo hopes is excitement. After a reprimanding shush, the door opens again, and before him stands a tall man. His face is circular and puffy, his small eyes curved upwards as he grins. His big, bright smile calms Jinwoo’s heart by a few paces.

“You must be Jinwoo,” the man greets, bowing deeply. When he rises, his smile is even larger. “I’m Noh Taeyoon. Nice to meet you.”

Noh Taeyoon. Jinwoo turns the name over in his mind, trying it out.

“This is Park Jinwoo,” the servicewoman says, stepping to the side, bringing Jinwoo to the centre of attention. The sudden shift in focus has him shrinking in on himself, his shoulders raising around his ears. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, Jinwoo?” She invites, a hand on his shoulder.

The small head of the boy, who had been at the door, peers out from around Taeyoon’s waist. Perhaps he had been the source of such boisterous noise before Taeyoon had even opened the door. The boy’s eyes still glimmer with intrigue, his small lips curled into an ‘o’. Unable to say anything, Jinwoo bows deeply. He can feel the stare of the young boy burning holes into his head.

“I believe I have some papers to sign?” Taeyoon says, addressing Hyejin. She nods, lifting a thick folder to her chest. Taeyoon taps the boy at his waist on his little head, “Sanha, did you clean up the office?” He asks, and the boy – Sanha – nods enthusiastically.

“Yep!” He says, voice squeaky. “’Hyuk and I cleaned it together!”

Taeyoon hums, “How’s Minhyuk feeling?”

Sanha glances at Jinwoo pointedly, before looking back up at Taeyoon, who towered over him. “Not good.”

“Take care of him, okay?” Taeyoon instructs, with a short sigh. He ruffles Sanha’s hair, and the boy disappears down the hall, a skip in his steps.

After toeing off their shoes, the three of them walk down the hall. The house was a traditional hanok, the wooden floors cold to the soles of Jinwoo’s feet. To their right, each room they passed was closed by a sliding wooden door, and to their left, the doors were opened to reveal a small courtyard in the centre of the home.

The courtyard was beautiful, with a gorgeous garden growing within. Though small, it was overflowing with greenery. A small, mossy pond sat in the centre, and Jinwoo caught the shimmering flicker of fish beneath the surface. As they walked through the hall, turning a corner, Jinwoo caught a brief glimpse of a chair sat by the pond, with a boy perched in it.

He stared, as Jinwoo, Taeyoon, and the Hyejin approached the office, his eyes wide and curious. When Jinwoo meets his gaze, a tiny smile curls on his lips.

Within a moment he and Hyejin are swept into the office, the door is shut behind them, and the boy in the chair disappears from sight.

The office walls are lined with shelving, filled to the brim with thick books, binders with documents poking out from the top, and boxes with various labels. Taeyoon’s desk is huddled into the corner of the room, potted plants lining the edge, ropes of ivy tangled around his pen pot and the little desk lamp. He has a name plate, though it is made of old, beaten up card, and his name is written in rainbow bubble letters. Seeing it on his desk makes Jinwoo grin.

Hyejin, formal in her role, takes Taeyoon through the paperwork. The man nods along, listening, though he seems to understand the processes quite well. He holds the pen in his hand with an air of sureness, and smoothly swipes his signature in the appropriate places. Jinwoo watches the event with conflicting emotions – Taeyoon seemed to have a big heart, if the décor of the house was anything to go by, but the skill and professionalism he expressed in his trade made it all seem so false – practiced.

They take scans of the paperwork and Taeyoon files them in one of the boxes on the shelves. All too quickly, Hyejin is slipping pages back into her folder and stepping out the door. Jinwoo watches in silence her car kick up a billowing cloud of brown dust as it drives away, until it’s nothing but a black speck, like a little fruit fly, in the distance.

On the front steps, Taeyoon takes a seat beside him, “Feeling anxious?” He asks, carefully. Jinwoo doesn’t look up, only nods. The toe of the man’s sneaker is a little scuffed with dirt and is patterned with crude drawings in permanent marker. _BIN WAZ HERE_ , and _MJ ROX_ are tattooed along the outsole. “You know, if you don’t talk, that’s okay – I’m a little used to it, to be honest,” Taeyoon says with a short huff of laughter, “But I have a feeling that’s not true. Hyejin sent me some photos they found of you and your school friends – you seem pretty popular!”

The mention of his school friends makes Jinwoo’s eyes burn with fresh tears. Since the accident, he had stopped attending school and his sudden departure had left him with many questions from his friends. But, slowly, the questions stopped coming, and the friends stopped caring. Jinwoo wonders if he’ll ever get to see them again.

He sniffs, as the first tear rolls down his cheek, and Taeyoon envelopes him in his arms. The man’s chest is warm, and Jinwoo mimics his slow breathing, allowing himself to calm down. Taeyoon pats his head and sighs, “You know, if I’m being honest, I’m also feeling a little lost.”

Jinwoo pulls his head away and looks up at the man, who had seemed so sure of himself in every way. His expression must convey confusion, for Taeyoon continues.

“I’ve never taken in anyone as old as you, Jinwoo. Minhyuk was the last boy I adopted, and he was only ten at the time. You’re sixteen… and you probably think you have no reason to be here, huh?”

Jinwoo’s face heats up, and he looks away. How could Taeyoon read him so well? Perhaps Hyejin had said something.

“I promise you, I’ll make your stay worth it. Whether you stay here for weeks, months, or years – hell, even if you decide to stay after you no longer have to – I’ll go to lengths to make sure you enjoy your time with us.” He smiles brightly, one hand resting between Jinwoo’s shoulder blades, comforting.

Mustering an ounce of courage, Jinwoo whispers, “Thank you.” Taeyoon’s smile bursts brighter.

“You’re welcome, my friend. Let’s go get your stuff, we’ll show you the boys’ room,” he says, rising from the front step. Turning, Taeyoon bellows into the hanok, “Bin! Where are you?! Come help us out!”

They enter back into the house, passing along the halls on their way back into the office. Jinwoo glances into the courtyard gardens, but the boy in the chair was nowhere to be seen.

Loud footsteps thump through the hallways, making the old house tremble on its foundations. The thundering sounds round the bend of the house, and through the courtyard, Jinwoo can see a lithe boy sprinting through the hall. He skids to a halt at the office door, a cheeky, boxy grin set between his cheeks.

“Oh! Hello,” he says, eyes trained on Jinwoo. He has a thick head of dyed brown hair, and small, puffy eyes. Something about his face, or the way he holds himself – bouncy, confident, laidback – makes Jinwoo think of a puppy. The boy’s eyes flick to Taeyoon, “Is this the new kid?”

Behind him, Taeyoon must nod, for the boy suddenly bounces on his toes, eyes widening. “I’m Bin! It’s nice to meet you – it’s been a while since anyone new showed up around here. We’ve all been excited ever since we heard a someone new was coming!” He pauses, “I’m fourteen – how old are you?”

Before Jinwoo has time to answer, Taeyoon steps in front of him, “Bin, this is Jinwoo. He’s sixteen,” he hands the largest bag to Bin, who swiftly hoists it up onto his shoulders. “You wouldn’t remember how frightening it is to be new to a place like this, so let’s calm down. Can you take the bags to your bedrooms, please?” He says, with an air of cool patience. “Show Jinwoo the way.”

Bin leads Jinwoo down the hall, a spring in his step. Jinwoo takes the time to peer into each room of the hanok, absorbing his new home. Past the office is a large bedroom, with a huge yo rolled out onto the floor, the bedsheets strewn to the side. The windows are open wide, the sheer white curtains swishing in the breeze. Jinwoo can smell the old wood of the hanok, rich in his nose.

The next room down is another bedroom, with two sleeping mats pushed together. There are various stuffed animals and comics scattered across the floor, and a dresser with clothes spilling from the drawers. After this room is a bathroom, with a large wooden bath that looked out onto the fields below. Another bedroom follows, looking much the same as the previous one, only with a large desk pushed up against the window. There is a bookshelf with various textbooks and notepads, and a little desk lamp still turned on.

The hallway leads into an open living room and kitchen, which leaves Jinwoo marvelling. The bench space is wide, with hanging lights curtained by paper lanterns. Everything is made of sleek wood, and smells rich and warm. A boy, perhaps Jinwoo’s age, stands by the sink, peeling wet and shining potatoes in the palms of his hands. He glances up, pausing, as Bin and Jinwoo walk by.

There are two couches on the other side of the room, positioned in front of a television, playing reruns of an old day-time drama that aired when Jinwoo was only five or six. There are two boys sitting on the couch, one Jinwoo recognises as the young boy, Sanha, and another, slightly older boy. With three new pairs of eyes on him, Jinwoo suddenly feels self-conscious.

“See? Told you!” Sanha says, turning to the boy by the sink. “The new kid is here today!”

The older boy grits his teeth at Sanha, silently telling him to be quiet.

With a grunt, Bin pulls Jinwoo’s suitcase off his shoulders and drops it to the floor before his feet. It resounds with a thud that shakes the room. “Hey, guys, this is Jinwoo. Jinwoo, say hi,” he says, one hand on Jinwoo’s back. “He’s sixteen.”

The boy by the sink dropping the peeler and the potato in his hands into the water. He stands tall, brushing his long hair out of his face. “Hello, I’m Myungjun. I’m eighteen.” Jinwoo bows lightly, as Myungjun says, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Sanha pulls himself up onto the arm of the couch, squatting like an owl. “I’m twelve.”

“Twelve?” Jinwoo repeats, eyes widening slightly.

“Charming first words,” Bin jokes. “Yeah, he’s only twelve. He’ll grow into all the baby fat in no time!” He chimes, miming a punch in Sanha’s direction. The younger boy simply rolls his eyes.

“That’s Minhyuk,” Sanha says, pointing one of his chubby fingers behind him to the other boy on the couch. He is a small boy, thin and spindly, hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. With a blank face, but shining and curious eyes, he watches Jinwoo. “He’s thirteen.”

“I didn’t know you were coming today,” Myungjun says, suddenly, pulling the attention back to himself. He looks forlorn, face sunken slightly. “I don’t think I have enough food to prepare for us all. I’ll have to go back to the store…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Jinwoo starts, but Sanha interrupts.

“Would you like to come with us?”

All eyes are on Jinwoo, awaiting his response.

“I won’t let you go unfed on your first night, Jinwoo,” Myungjun says, hand sifting through the water in search of the potato and peeler. “We should go. We’ll show you around town.”

Feeling as if declining would be rude, Jinwoo says yes, nodding quietly.

Bin hoists the suitcase back onto his shoulders. “You’re rooming with me,” he says, making his way further down the hall. “Hope you don’t mind.”

The next room is Bin’s bedroom. His yo has been pushed underneath one of the windows, the curtains draping over his blankets. There is a bookshelf full of comic books and graphic novels, and a dresser with stickers dotted along the front. Along the top shelf of the dresser is various pictures frames, filled with drawings of cartoon characters.

Bin puts the suitcase back on the floor, stretching his back out like a kitten. From the cupboard, he pulls a second sleeping mat out, unravelling it onto the wooden floor. Working in silence, he makes Jinwoo’s bed, and when he is finished, he smiles triumphantly. “It’s not much, but it’s enough, huh?” He grins, and pulls Jinwoo’s bed to mirror his own. “You can change it up if you want, but I like my bed to be under the window, so I can look out at the stars in the night time. You can see them really well out here.”

Jinwoo nods, “No, I like it, thank you.” He tentatively takes a seat on his mat, pushing the sheer curtains aside. The sky is a vibrant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds, like pure cotton. Compared to the smoggy pale sky of inner-city Seoul, Jinwoo thinks he could get used to a view like this.

“You can put all your clothes in the dresser, and all your toiletries and stuff in the bathroom. Anything else you brought… you can put it anywhere. I don’t mind. This is your house now, too,” he smiles gently, and sits beside Jinwoo. His gaze softens, and he follows Jinwoo’s gaze out the window. “How are you feeling?” He asks, quietly, carefully.

Jinwoo sighs. “Okay,” he says, unsure how to phrase the feelings that had been churning within him all day. A few hours ago, he was saying farewell to his mother, in her hospital bed. Now, he was settling into a new home with a set of people he had never met before.

“I wish I could make you feel better,” Bin says, earnestly, and Jinwoo turns to him. His eyes are tracing the clouds as they drag across the sky. “I don’t remember what it was like to start here. I was three.”

“Three?”

Bin nods, “Yep! I have no idea what happened to my sister, but I hope she got as lucky as I did,” he says, looking back at Jinwoo. Bin’s thumb traces the grain in the wooden walls, the arch of his nail tapping against it.

“You had a sister?”

When Bin smiles, in that moment, it looks as if he is wearing a mask. “I like to say I still have her. Her name is Sua,” he says. “She was my best friend.”

“I hope you can find her, one day, Bin,” Jinwoo says.

“Me too!” Bin shifts on the sleeping mat. “Unpack, and then I’ll ask everyone if they want to go to town. What do you say?”

Jinwoo smiles, “Sure thing!”

With a skip in his step, Bin leaves the room, the sound of his feet padding down the hall echoing. Jinwoo reaches for his suitcase, unzipping it. Bin has already pushed his clothes aside in the chest of drawers, making room for Jinwoo’s belongings. As he is piling his clothes up in the drawers, he comes across the picture frame of himself and his mother that he had tucked into his bag that very morning.

Sighing, trying to ignore the burning behind his eyes, Jinwoo looks at the picture of the two of them. If he could turn back time, Jinwoo would figure out a way to stop this from happening – he just wanted his mother back, healthy. He feels the wet heat on his cheeks before he realises he is crying, and quickly wipes the tears away with the back of his hand.

Stuffing the picture frame into the back of the cupboard, Jinwoo heaves in a deep breath, letting it ache and burn in his lungs, before letting it out. He shuts the cupboard door, cutting himself off from that past, and turns for the door, in search of his new friends.


	3. new way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first night of jinwoos new life draws to a close, as jinwoo discovers more about his new 'family'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never around, never got time. haha. hope you like it

Jinwoo heads for the kitchen.

There are two ways through the hanok from his and Bin’s bedroom to the kitchen. The first route, he could follow the hallway – if he were to look at a floor plan, the hallway would be in a perfect square shape, outlining the courtyard. Secondly, he could cut through the small greenspace.

Eager to observe the garden, Jinwoo takes the latter option, pushing open the sliding glass window and stepping off from the lip of the hallway and into the courtyard. It overflows with greenery, big plant leaves swelling out from the ground and growing up to his head. There are small, red flowers dotted along the ground. The courtyard smells earthy and warm, as the sun has just passed over the top.

The pond is quiet and still, aside from a small bamboo water feature, that clacks hollowly every time it fills with water. Jinwoo bends to the ground, watching the koi fish in the pond wriggle their way through the water. Their scales shimmer under the early afternoon light, orange and silver. He dips his finger in the cool water, just as he hears footsteps approach him.

It was the boy from earlier, who had been sitting in the chair by this very pond. He had a bowl of thick black hair on his head, and splotches of a lively blush on his dewy cheeks. He was magnificently tall, with long legs that never seemed to end. Without saying anything, he bends to Jinwoo’s level, and dips his finger in the water as well, chasing fish with his index.

Bewildered, Jinwoo stares at him, watching the way the boy’s lip would quirk up whenever the tail of a fish would whip his finger ever-so-delicately. Uncomforted by the silence, Jinwoo speaks up. “Hello, I’m Jinwoo,” he says, nodding his head instead of bowing.

The boy nods his head in return. “I’m Dongmin,” he smiles. “You must be the new kid?” When he looks up at Jinwoo, his eyes are curved into crescents, like a waning moon. In smiling, his face becomes round and his cheekbones raise, and his dark pink lips pull taut into a grin. Jinwoo cannot find it within himself to look away.

“How could you tell?” Jinwoo jokes, “I’ve been told I’ve been the first new kid for a while.”

“That’s for sure,” Dongmin says, taking his finger out of the water and shaking it, before wiping it on the leg of his pants. “It’ll be nice to have someone new around, though. It’s refreshing! Say, you’re coming on the walk with the rest of us, right? I think Myungjun wanted to buy some more groceries.”

Jinwoo nods, “I’d really like that.”

Dongmin grins so wide that his pearly teeth shimmer. “Good. Hey, come wash your feet with me. We can’t go trekking this dirt through the house. I think everyone wants to leave, soon.” He smiles, pulling himself to a stand. He extends a hand out for Jinwoo, carefully tugging him up from the ground.

He leads Jinwoo over to a small stone basin in the corner of the courtyard, with a little rusted tap sticking from the top. It all looks handmade. Dongmin sticks his feet in the basin, and with nimble fingers, turns the handle a few times until a spurting stream of water spits from the tap. He carefully washes his feet, drying them on a small towelette, folded by the glass doors. Stepping up onto the lip of the hallway, he hands the towelette to Jinwoo, silently instructing him to do the same.

Bin comes down the hallway as Jinwoo is turning off the tap and stepping back into the hanok. He hangs from the handle of the sliding glass door, “Oh, you met?” He asks, mostly to Dongmin, who nods. Bin turns to Jinwoo, “Then, I think you’ve met everyone!” He bounces on his toes, “We’re all about to head out, so let’s go.”

Jinwoo follows both boys down the hall, listening to their conversations. They talk carefree and easily, mumbling with a million contexts unknown to Jinwoo, perhaps years of memories and shared experiences webbed between their words. Everyone is in the living room when they walk in, and it is the first time Jinwoo has been in the room with them all. He feels like a burden, sticking out like an extra limb, foreign, useless, and out of place.

Taeyoon hovers by the bench top, where Myungjun is putting the half-prepared food into containers and stuffing them in the fridge. Jinwoo peeks inside as the door is open – there are lots of snacks and fruits, and Tupperware containers filled with leftovers.

“Okay, so, here’s thirty-thousand,” he says, plucking a few folded won bills from his wallet and handing them to Myungjun. “You think that’ll be enough?”

Myungjun nods.

“Enough for a treat?” Sanha asks, perking up.

“If, after you’ve bought everything you need, there’s money left. You can all get an ice-cream from the corner store,” Taeyoon says, mussing Sanha’s thick bowl of black hair between his fingers.

Myungjun retreats down the hall and returns, slinging a shoulder bag over his chest. He tucks the money into an inside pocket and bounces on his toes. “Are we ready to go?” He asks, to the room, gaze lingering on Jinwoo for a second longer. Instinctively, Jinwoo nods.

“Alright, be careful along the road!” Taeyoon says, as the six boys trickle out of the room.

Jinwoo remains silent, watching the other boy’s carefully. Sanha and Minhyuk were joined at the hip, never leaving the other’s side – though Sanha was loud and boisterous and energetic, whereas Minhyuk was curled in on himself, silent and watching. Something about the silent, analytic gaze of Minhyuk was like a cat, ready to pounce.

Bin bounced amongst them all, weaving back and forth through the group, like a bee buzzing through a flower bush. He would cling onto Myungjun, make Myungjun laugh so hard that his knees would wobble. He would pester Sanha, teasing him until the boy spat back, until their fights unravelled into fits of laughter. He would whisper things into the silent Minhyuk’s ear and lean back, waiting for a response. The boy would never say anything, except maybe smile meekly.

Myungjun was a leader. He walked ahead of the group and involved himself in all the discussions. Perhaps because he was eighteen, he held with him an air of responsibility, and he watched over the group carefully. Jinwoo felt safe under his watchful eye and knew that Myungjun would be the person to turn to in a moment of need. He could make anyone mirror his smile.

Dongmin was quiet. He was not withdrawn, per se, as he involved himself in conversation and enjoyed a laugh with the other boys. Perhaps he was an introvert, keeping most of his thoughts and ideas to himself like secrets. Behind that pale, pretty face of his was a mystery that Jinwoo was desperate to unlock and solve.

He walked by Dongmin’s side, as the six of them trailed along the roadside. The road was two single lanes, the tar crumbling into the dirt on the edges. Jinwoo’s ankles roll over the rocks and pebbles as they trail along the road, shielding his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun. Their knees raise high as they step over the long grass and wildflowers, the gentle breeze whipping through their hair and clothes. The air is clear and fresh, and Jinwoo inhales it deeply, feels it cool in his lungs.

The world around him was vibrant and stunning. The grass was emerald green and waved like an ocean in the breeze. There is a rainbow of wildflowers in the fields, scattered like paint. The sky is a light blue, almost cloudless aside from a few puffy clouds drifting above them. Jinwoo can see the sparkling river curling around the town, glistening under the light of the sun.

Perhaps, he could get used to this.

 

+

 

On the return home, the sunset stains the entire world around them. The long grass is shimmering pink, the cotton-candy clouds melting into the horizon. When the six boys finally arrive on the front doorstep, the first stars have poked through the veil of dusk. Jinwoo sits on a chair by the kitchen counter as Myungjun finishes preparing dinner, staring out the window as more stars pop into view like flecks of glitter.

The house bears the warm smell of rich meats. One by one, each boy of the house floats into the kitchen and takes a seat at the table, mouths watering as they await their meal.

Looking at the plate before him, Jinwoo’s own mouth waters. His heart feels full and warm – he has not been faced with a decent meal in weeks. After the accident, he had been forced to take care of himself, eating packets of the cheapest ramen and scraping together the simplest meals, all that he was capable of.

Sitting in front of him were side dishes of various seasoned vegetables, sizzling meats and hot noodles. The hot meat crackled as it settled on his plate, popping delightfully. Watching as the others began to eat, Jinwoo shakily picked up his chopsticks and put some food in his mouth. Before he knew it, he was crying.

Taeyoon’s voice was a calm and gentle reassurance, the tender tone of an experienced guardian, “Jinwoo, are you okay?” He asks, from the head of the table.

Silently, Jinwoo nods, swallowing a mouthful of the delicious, warm food. He feels it settle in his body, that thanks him for the long-missed nutrition. “Thank you, Myungjun,” he murmurs, looking at the older boy over his glass.

“My pleasure,” the boy smiles in response.

“To our newest member of the family, Jinwoo,” Taeyoon chimes, raising his glass. Everyone lifts their glasses into the air, glass clinking echoing around the room as they all toast. Filled with warmth and surrounded by love, Jinwoo feels himself sink and settle into the new life that had been laid out before him.

Conversation settles over the table, the boys sharing anecdotes and trading jokes. Jinwoo listens in silence, absorbing the atmosphere and enjoying his meal. He finds he doesn’t quite have anything to say, anyway. The only other person at the table who sits in silence is Minhyuk, who watches Jinwoo carefully, analytically. Everyone else makes conversation, filling in the gaps where Minhyuk and Jinwoo would be if they were to join.

When dinner wraps up, the six boys dig into dessert. Sanha had begged Myungjun to use the remaining money Taeyoon had given them to buy a tub of chocolate ice-cream, and Myungjun had given into his wishes.

They sit in the living room, with the windows wide open, under a temporary mosquito net that had been fastened to the roof. Jinwoo can still see the stars lighting up the sky, the way the skyscrapers did on an evening in Seoul, only so much more beautiful.

Part of him yearned to return – if only to be with his mother. Seoul was where he belonged, after all. But, in the meantime, this wasn’t so bad after all. With a mouthful of sticky sweetness and a heart full of warmth, Jinwoo basks in the cool evening breeze awash over his skin, and the fresh air the cleansed him from the inside out.

Myungjun retires to bed early, quietly sneaking away to a bedroom down the hall. Sanha is noisy and loud as he washes up, an explicit contrast to Minhyuk, who moves silently and smoothly as they prepare to sleep. Bin plays video games on his mobile phone in the dark, as he and Jinwoo settle down for the night. Yet, long after the light of his phone has stopped illuminating the back corner of the room, Jinwoo still can’t sleep.

Perhaps because it was his first night in a new location, perhaps he had not settled enough. He tosses and turns, stares up and out of the window at the stars, searching for a way to lull himself to sleep.

After a few hours of fruitless waiting, self-meditating, and pleading with himself, Jinwoo pulls himself up and out of his sleeping mat. Tip-toeing across the floor, Jinwoo steps into the hallway. Light from the moon pours in from the courtyard, shining on the glass and illuminating the floor.

Heading for the bathroom, Jinwoo creeps through the hall and, as he passes the kitchen, the silhouette of another person gives him a shock. Sat beneath the strung-up mosquito net, the long silhouette rests peacefully, outlined by the pale blue of the moonlight. Hearing the creak of wood beneath Jinwoo’s frightened jump, the head of the figure whips around to look at him.

It’s Dongmin.

He looks as he had when Jinwoo first arrived, when he had been sitting in the courtyard. He looks peaceful, content, mind swimming in the depths of his thoughts, a mystery to all else. Upon seeing Jinwoo, his face curls inward in confusion, shock, before recognition settles over his face.

“What are you doing up?” he asks, his voice carrying gently over the still night air.

Jinwoo shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, tiptoeing along the wooden floorboards. Dongmin reaches up and lifts the flap of the mosquito net, inviting Jinwoo inside. “What are _you_ doing up?” he echoes.

Dongmin’s gaze crawls over the backyard scene before them. The gardens are eerily grey and green under the light of the moon, so still, yet so alive with the hissing and crackles of crickets and cicadas. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, a gentle smirk hanging on his lips. He leans back on his hands, casual and comfortable.

Sitting beside him, Jinwoo analyses him. Dongmin’s face is a little chubby in the cheeks, round and cute. He has a long, slender nose and puffy lips like rose petals. His eyes are bold and large and shining, inquisitive and wandering. Dongmin’s skin is a little tan, perhaps from his years in the countryside, playing under the hot Summer sun. His tousled head of black hair rests atop his head, shaggy and curling at the tips from a long day.

He is rather beautiful, subjectively speaking, Jinwoo thinks. He can image Dongmin on a giant billboard in the center of Gangnam, selling whatever to whomever couldn’t resist the tantalizing boy before them.

“Do you like it, here?” Dongmin asks, his voice cutting through the silence, the way Jinwoo’s mother could push scissors and cut through wrapping paper, smooth and effortless. “I know you’ve barely been here for long, but I thought I’d ask.”

Jinwoo nods. “It’s… nice,” he decides. “I think the town is gorgeous, and everyone here is so kind to me… It’s just…” He trails off, trying to find the words to express himself, without demeaning the efforts of everyone in the house to make him feel welcome.

“Different?”

“Exactly.”

“You’ll get used to it… And you’ll come to really love it, I think. I hope,” he smiles, softly. “Everyone else has. It takes a little while, but they all settle in.”

“How long did it take you?” Jinwoo asks, turning to face Dongmin a little bit more.

There’s a long pause, and the white noise of the night settles back over the room for a minute. “I don’t remember,” the boy admits, blinking. Before Jinwoo can ask, he says, “I was only one year old.”

“Only one year old?” Jinwoo asks, astonished.

With a huff of a half-hearted laugh, Dongmin confirms, “Yep! I was Taeyoon’s first child in care.” He says, with a hint of pride, as if he had personally made the choice fourteen years before. “So, I’ve watched everyone arrive and settle in. I don’t really remember Bin arriving – I was only four – but I remember everyone else!”

“Why did Taeyoon take you in so young?” Jinwoo asks, the question launching off his tongue, curious. He watches Dongmin falter, his plump lips dropping their grin, and hurries to correct himself, “I mean, you don’t have to answer me… We only met today, I’m sorry, I should watch my mouth.”

Dongmin’s smile has already returned, “No, no, it’s okay. I just haven’t told my story in a while.” He sits up straighter, eyes still trained on the garden. A cricket hops up onto the verandah, bounds towards them, but they are protected by the mosquito net. “I was abused, as a baby. Neglected, I think. Child services took me away from my parents, and Taeyoon was on the team. He took responsibility of me.

“After about three or so years, Bin turned up. Taeyoon explained it to me that I was getting a little brother, but I remember asking why I was getting a brother and not a mother, because I’d seen mothers on TV and never remembered having one. But, I guess that’s Taeyoon’s decision. He wanted a big family, and he got it, I suppose.

“When Myungjun showed up, he asked me why I didn’t miss having a mum and dad, but I honestly don’t even remember them, and I don’t remember anything about what they did to me. So, I don’t hate them, but I don’t love them. I just don’t care. They might still be out there, somewhere, but Taeyoon and the boys are my family, now. They’re all that matter to me. I know that I’m definitely living a better life here than I would have with my ‘real’ parents.”

Jinwoo nods, turning over the new information in his head, letting it settle like fresh ink. “Why did Myungjun ask that? What happened to his family?”

Dongmin lets out a gentle sigh. “That’s not for me to tell you, that’s his story. Everyone has one, and so do you, don’t you?” His words roll into the night air, “You might not be ready to tell yours, and that’s okay. You’ll hear from everyone, eventually. And, when you’re ready, they’ll hear from you.”

So far, out of five, Jinwoo had one story. As the moon drifted across the clear night sky, stars twinkling like flecks of stray glitter, Jinwoo wondered what other stories were nestled in the foundation of this home for boys, and what secrets he was yet to uncover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment or ill think u hate me

**Author's Note:**

> what do you think so far? i know theres not much yet, and it seems kinda dark, but the general premise of the fic is actually very nice :) i hope you will like it!


End file.
